


Holiday

by Findarato



Category: Messiah Project - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mentioned violence, Morbid humour, Smut, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9080629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Findarato/pseuds/Findarato
Summary: It’s amazing how one person in your life could make such a difference.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lightningwaltz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** Messiah Project is not mine  
>  **Spoilers:** Shikkoku, Dou, Hakugin; some maybe for Hagane and Shinku.
> 
> _Written for a dear friend, rp partner, and messiah. Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year. Hopefully 2017 is better than 2016._
> 
> This accidentally became eight pages, and I’m not sure how that happened…I wrote it in a day and half. Ish. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

_**.** _

_**Holiday** _

Since graduation, the shortest amount of time he's been with Shuusuke was five minutes as they passed by each other on the same train on the way to separate missions. The longest amount of time was three and a half weeks, due to a stroke of good luck (Shuusuke's good planning and getting a favour).

Not like that's ever enough. Be it the number of times they've held hands, or the number of beds they've fallen into and how they wake up entwined—it was so fleeting and it frustrates both of them. This was the one of the few aspects he didn't understand. It's not like this encouraged people to run away, or compromised the missions. He fights better when Shuusuke is next to him, backs pressed together. His sleeping, eating, and probably various other habits are improved when they're not separated. The Church, Sakura, all of it—it's honestly stupid.

Souma doesn't really hide his contempt; they're not a huge organisation, so at the most they'll give him some slaps on the wrist because of the needed manpower. He's not looking to cause a scene or start a rebellion. Or revolution.

He just wants to be with Shuusuke. Unashamedly so. Shuusuke occupies most of his thoughts and he tends not to filter them away. After a few years, they've both becoming good at the coping and adjusting to this life. But he doesn't want to settle. This is not how he plans to spend the rest of his life.

This is why he complains, often and loudly, to Shuusuke whenever possible.

"I had to see Ichijima recently," he grumps, though he's not really that loud today. Shuusuke has him in his arms, so it's a step up from yesterday when he was in a muddy ditch in the cold. "He hasn't changed."

"Really?" Gosh, Shuusuke's voice was always so nice. "No grey hairs?"

"I think he's the kind of guy who dyes his hair and gets a nose job."

"Wait, he's had a nose job?"

"I don't know? That was just an example…" Souma tries to picture Ichijima with another nose, and gives up in mild horror at himself. "But he's that sort of person."

"You have a point…he's smug and always thinks he knows people better than they do themselves." Shuusuke shifts. "How often do you run into him in a year?"

"I don't keep track, but more than I want to."

"I've seen him only three times."

"Weird."

"Maybe it's the difference in what we do."

"Yeah, but you're more…" Souma lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "He knows I hate him. Wouldn't he want to deal with someone who has more patience for him?"

"It might be other things."

"Other things?"

The sigh Shuusuke breathes against his hair seems to say, 'Your guess is a good as mine.'

Ugh. He doesn't even like thinking about Ichijima. It means responsibilities, the phones in their uniforms, the well-worn shoes, the guns they hadn't bothered to clean yet…the fact this time around they're so tired they hadn't done more than kiss and fall asleep for a few hours. For once, they weren't in a crappy hotel with a few hours to spare, or in some alleyway making out messily. It's fairly decent, a little small, but there's a real coffee maker and a bath big enough to fit two people, instead of one tiny cramped shower.

Apparently it's a holiday bonus. It's hard for them to keep holidays, seeing how their schedules are a construed mess. But maybe it's because they got sick of Souma annoying (ahem, requesting) them about being with with Shuusuke.

"We should eat," Shuusuke says, though nothing about his voice sounds like he wants to move.

"Phone is on our right."

"Aren't you hungry?"

"No." Hungry, thirsty, tired…all of those things twisted together like a leash that hinders them. "I just want you."

"You can't live off me."

"Try me." He wriggles a little, and angles himself up higher. "I'm more than ready to." Shuusuke meets him just as he cranes his neck, and their lips can touch. "See?"

Shuusuke's laughter isn't as light as usual, but it still warms him all the way through. It's enough to make him sit up and give him a proper kiss, while his hands test the mood by traversing slowly downwards.

"Ah—careful." A hand over his gives him pause.

"You got hurt?"

"Some stitches."

"Okay, this is coming off." At least Shuusuke's clothes have fewer zippers. "Because I want to see."

"It's not that bad. It's been a week."

Souma tugs at the bandage. "You didn't mention it."

"I was tired. I forgot."

"I'm not blaming you. I'm…tired too." They're both rather dispirited, and not even the prospect of time together seems to be doing the trick. Shuusuke's injury is healing and doesn't seem infected, but that's going to be another scar. "Did you do this yourself?" The stitching, he means.

"Yes."

_I wish I was there,_ he wants to say, but they both know better than to apologise for things out of their control. He embraces Shuusuke instead, and tries to put everything into that action. Shuusuke smells like gunpowder and sulphur, and he can basically taste it. Their bodies fold together like pages in a book, and for a moment, he feels irrationally angry about whoever did this. Likely said person is dead, or locked up, and the reason for such a injury could range between accidental to ill-will to sheer 'Hey, we're enemies, of course we'll be shooting at each other.'

But this is Shuusuke, shadows underneath his eyes and his skin off-tone, quieter than usual and looking as if he needs a break. This is the kind of weariness that drags down on the soul and attempts to strip every bit of will.

Souma knows he's hardly looking any better. The cold is…fucking cold. He's had a broken shoe for a whole week and snow and pebbles got in. Then there was the mud, and he just about had it with everything until he goes for his mission and instead gets told he has a week off, and when they dump him somewhere in a random city, Shuusuke is there, waiting for him.

And now they're here, and they don't know what to do with themselves.

Except maybe the food part. Souma finally picks up the phone to call room service for dinner, even though he knows neither of them are in the mood for it. Shuusuke lies on the bed, eyes closed, not bothering with the buttons on his shirt. The only movement he makes draping himself over Souma once the call is over.

"I need new glasses," he says suddenly, taking his current ones off.

"Just frames, or a prescription?"

"Prescription."

"What's your reason for not having a surgery to correct it?"

Shuusuke rubs between his eyes. "I did think about it, even before all this. But I like them, I suppose."

"You look fine with or without them." Because his messiah was one of those people. Lucky.

"Thanks."

Though, he does look younger without them. The frames are like a guard, unmoving and stiff. They only come off in bed, or…when he's Souma. Like now, he's setting them to the side.

Souma allows him to skim his thumb underneath one of Shuusuke's eyes, tracing lightly down to his cheek. "I mean it; you look great. How did I end up with you?"

That's a silly question—it's because Sakura didn't give them a choice. Yet it always, always makes Souma happy because Shuusuke smile and never fails to reply, "Because I chose you."

Messiahs came and went; some of them were lovers, others were friends, siblings, even enemies. As long as they passed and graduated, it didn't matter. An emotional attachment could either be positive or negative. If neutral, that's the only time it's a failure. And they've been anything but that.

"You push yourself too much, Shuusuke."

"I might've. A little"

"Just a little?"

"They told me I could only go with you if I completed a certain number of tasks."

Souma clenches his hand, but doesn't punch anything. Yes, they're stubborn and can't be kept apart, but making Shuusuke do that pisses him off. "Assholes."

"Very much. But we made it."

"I don't like seeing you like this. You'll make yourself sick."

"It's better than the other kind of sick."

The kind that settles in the heart and fucks you up, causes thoughts to sink low and anger to rise. They both understand it too well.

"This could all be avoided if they just assigned us together."

"Have you ever submitted a petition?"

"And seem desperate? I might be obnoxious about this, but I'm not trying to upstart the whole organisation. At least…I can't, like this."

"Would you, though?"

"Change things, you mean?"

"Yeah. You have the right qualities."

"In my head. Or, do you mean I'm good at influencing you to try new and _interesting_ things?"

Shuusuke jabs him in the side with a finger. "By interesting you mean torturing me."

"I didn't hear a 'no'…"

"Very funny."

They both have imaginations and fair amount of experience. It's not so much about pushing limits, so as it was being together intensely. Ridiculously too, but it made them realise things on so many levels, about each other and about these circumstances they are in.

When Souma thinks back about his old flings, there's been passion, and no small amount of love, but since Sakura, there's been more heart-pounding, dramatic, needy moments. Like he can't keep his hands off Shuusuke, his self-control tossed to the winds. Shuusuke grapples back just as desperately, if not more impatiently. In professional matters, he has the same calm as a shrine statue does, but around Souma, he throws out most of his composure, if the marks he leaves behind are any indication.

Today, though…

"Souma."

He makes a sound in the back of his throat.

"We could do it, if we really wanted to." This is an old conversation.

"I know…" His fingers reach, flail somewhat, and then settle on Shuusuke—his knee, to be exact. "If we ran off to South America, or somewhere in Canada."

"Some days, I really want to."

"I do, too." Like today. Never mind the fact both of them don't even feel like moving. "But if we left…"

"Sometimes I wish we were more selfish."

Haku. Eiri. Others; Souma's gone back once, and it had been disheartening because of how things played out. "Why do some things happen in life so slowly, and then other things, especially the shitty ones, end up going so fast you don't even have time to process?"

"It's a curse."

"We're already all cursed, aren't we."

"Says the guy who is basically passive-aggressively rebelling."

"I'm not leading a rebellion." To hell with the possibility this room might be bugged. There's no literal gun to his head, or visible chain on his neck. "I just want things to be better. For you. For us. I'm tired of being tired. Look at this—" he shows his hand. "Calluses from a gun. I didn't have these seven years ago. My back hurts and when it's too cold, my left knee aches."

Shuusuke catches his hand. "And my eyesight is getting worse, and I broke my finger, and there's too many stitches in me, and only last week I sprained my ankle. And I think we need a drink."

"Not now. I want…I don't know what I want. I want you, but I want good things. If that makes sense." Two kids and a dog, and lawn. A home. Normal things normal people took for granted, but those are impossible for them. "I want to see you every day, every night…tell you things in person. I want a life that's not running around getting commanded like we're ants or something. Like we're expendable."

"Souma—"

"What if you get an eye blown out next time, or lose a leg. Or if you get some massive head injury and the last I'll see of you is in a hospital—" he stops himself. "I know, I'm thinking too much."

Sometimes all of this get to him. It's only human, he tries to remind himself, but when he's white-knuckled and rambling, anger knifes through the back of his neck and scrapes down his spine. He might as well drive his words into his own gut, wrench out the most painful death, like a 'fuck you, Sakura'—

Shuusuke kisses him. He's shaking a little, like how Souma is, but his fingers are in Souma's hair and going through familiar patterns.

They've imagined each other's deaths more than their own deaths. And each time, it's like peeling at a wound that will never heal.

Souma sags, and he's glad for the bed because if they had been standing, they would be down on the floor. He puts his hand over the stitches in Shuusuke's skin, and imagines them magically disappearing upon removing his hand.

"We could commit lovers' suicide," Shuusuke says, but there's not real intention in his words. They spend so much time in and around death, what one more shitty joke. "I'll get some rose petals and we can do it in the tub and make it like art."

"Oh no, I've seen drowned bodies. Do you know how horrible that is?"

"You're right. On the bed then?"

"No, I'd want to do it on a beach."

"I thought you said drowned bodies were horrible."

"Yeah, but at the bottom of the ocean…they wouldn't find us." Make people run around looking for them until a couple years later, they surface like refuse.

"Hmm."

They might be joking, but neither of them are amused. They have no intentions of carrying this out, much less doing it here, but talking this this tends to remind Souma why they keep going on. Hellish and as tiring as this is, for every chance with Shuusuke, every time they share a bed and each other, that's a feeling that can't be replicated in their deaths. It would give Sakura a satisfaction of marking down their failure, and he's determined to beat that.

"Maybe we should just shoot Ichijma instead," he says. "After making him apologise, and also getting him to hand control over to me. Or you. How'd you like to run Sakura."

"I'll pass in that, thanks." Shuusuke closes his eyes. "But I'll hold him down while you shoot him. It shouldn't be hard."

Souma nearly expects someone from Sakura to come barging in at any moment. But locking them up would be useless to their causes, because it'd be one less person. "What if I took over for real; you could be my second."

A thoughtful hum. "…I wouldn't mind that." Without even opening his eyes, Shuusuke's hand finds Souma's face. "You could come home to me every night."

Close enough to a domestic alternate reality. There's a pressure in his chest that's tight but not painful as he slides closer. "You'd complain about me being late."

"Well, yes. But then you could make up for that, in so many ways."

"I thought you're supposed to make me feel at home."

"Don't I always?"

"Yeah." The word gets stuck between his lips, and he kisses Shuusuke to help it go through. _You always do._

Shuusuke choose that moment to stick his tongue in between their mouths, and he resists a little, pushing back, but Shuusuke doesn't let him, hands on his shoulders.

"I thought we were tired."

"Think of this as helping us sleep," Shuusuke responds calmly. "I was nice this time, too. Not immediately jumping you."

"You were basically asleep on your feet. I don't think that counts."

"Says the one that was dead weight on top of me before I could get our coats off."

Hmph. "We sleep so often in these clothes, what's one more time."

"I like you _without_ them."

Oh, well then… "Fine, fine, I'll take them off."

"Good, I won't have deal with your stupid zippers."

His coat and shirt crumple to the floor next to them. "I look cooler than you."

"I look smarter than you."

A pair of pants and socks land next to his clothes. He drops his belt, ignoring the clatter it makes. "I don't care, I think you're beautiful."

"If I'm beautiful, what does that make you?"

"Cool."

"Oh, _please_." Shuusuke yanks the headband off Souma's head, fingers lingering on his bangs. "You don't look cool when you're on your knees, begging. You look desirable."

"Ah, you should be careful when you say things like that. Take a look at yourself. I didn't check if there was ice—"

"It's snowing outside, we might as well do it there, if you really want ice. Or we can take an ice-cold bath…"

"I'll pass. No ice." Even if it makes Shuusuke squirm nicely, but they really are too tired for more fanciful thinking. He rolls onto his back, dragging Shuusuke with him. "But say I really do get to be in charge of this mess of an organisation. What would you do when I come home to you?"

"Feed you."

"And?"

"Tell you how my day went."

"… _and?_ Shuusuke, you're killing me here."

"Do you want me to tell you or show you." Shuusuke pins one of his wrists to the bed with just the slight pressure.

"That's a rhetorical question."

"I thought so."

Shuusuke, bless his soul, always makes it good. Even if he sometimes moves too fast, and Souma has no time to process any thoughts except 'this is great but Shuusuke you need to let me breathe', it never ceases to make him feel alive. And today, he's not moving at the rate of a tornado. More like a hurricane. Those thoughts have too many stupid metaphors, so he happily lets them all leave his brain to make room in more pleasant things.

He never knows what to focus on, whether it be Shuusuke's face or hands, or how he breathes and the very way he looks ethereal, even in shitty lighting. His hair looks soft and Souma can't help himself from touching it, as usual.

"How do you maintain it," he questions, words forming with difficulty on his tongue. "Your hair. It's the same as ever."

"A can of something called dry shampoo, with a little water, and a brush."

"I'm lucky if mine's just clean."

"You could be filthy and I wouldn't care." Shuusuke flicks at his bangs, to make a point. "Stop talking."

"You're ordering me around, huh. Wouldn't that be pulling rank, if you were my second." He tries to put his knee up but Shuusuke choose that moment to sit on him.

"No, not in bed. Not if you're asking me to do things."

"Then do you want me to call you 'sir' in bed."

"…if you want, you can."

Hah, Shuusuke's face is red. But then again, so is his. The prospect them being stupid and using an honorific in bed is strangely appealing. "Yes…sir," he tests out.

_I don't have a kink for this. I don't._ That's what his mind says.

Shuusuke is rubbing his finger back and forth against his neck, with such light pressure that Souma wants to tell him he can touch more than that. But he endures that, for what's to come. Shuusuke tends not to tease, preferring lightning over a tide, but Souma can't deny he's good at measuring out gratification when he wants to. The alternating between sharp fingernails and a flat palm. The lips or the teeth. How it makes Souma go from squeezing a cramp into his toes, to melting and collapsing against Shuusuke. Shuddering, twisting, and moaning. He never cared about the sounds he makes; what point was there in hiding them? Shuusuke does it and Souma finds it fun to draws sounds out of him little by little, but when it come to himself, unless they had nosy neighbours, it didn't matter. He'll be as loud as he wants. It makes Shuusuke clumsy, but no less careful. Souma lies there as long as he can, keeping his hands to himself…yet he eventually gives up and reaches with for Shuusuke.

"Tie me down next time or something," he hastily offers, "but I can't do this today." The mood wasn't right for games or trying new things. His hands slide down the expanse of Shuusuke's back, over smooth ridges and resting on hips that are slighter than his, but only just. "I don't even mind if you want to do this faster. I want you."

"Picky." But there's no ire in that word; Shuusuke's eyes meet his in perfect understanding, before he goes down.

Souma buckles, swears softly, and tries not to shut his eyes while biting down on his one knuckle. Sparkles dance in the edge of vision, with Shuusuke in the direct. He apologises silently for yanking strands of hair too harshly, but he can't be judged for that, can he? Shuusuke makes all of this count, every flick of his tongue and flutter of fingers. Though Souma doesn't let him finish, because he's going to bite through his own skin at the moment, and so he pulls up Shuusuke to leave a mark on his neck. Funny how they used to be more careful about this, but lately it stopped mattering. What were they hiding, anyway? They promised themselves to each other, and they hadn't set their eyes on anyone else.

Shuusuke bites back just as easily, working over his collarbone until Souma is curling over him. If he's given more thought about this, he would've been more prepared. But it's not like they can't do this without…materials. They still make it good.

Maybe a little good. His leg spasms when Shuusuke's hand, familiar and comforting, touches him the right way. Dimly, he remembers them arguing whose better at handjobs, but he doesn't remember who won. Or if either of them won. He decides to just enjoy Shuusuke fighting to breathe normally as they end up on their sides, half-smothered by pillows and sheets and sweat making everything slippery. Or maybe it's good friction.

"Hey, Shuusuke…" he says that name perfectly without accidentally slurring it, and he's proud of himself.

"Souma?"

"How pissed do you think they'd be if we got married." They meaning anyone.

"What could they do? We are."

Nothing to show for on their fingers or on a sheet a paper, but they recognise it. Still, it'd be nice. Or maybe that's just more fanciful thinking. "You're right." And then he's back to focusing on what they're doing.

Someone knocks on the door; Souma ignores it because that's room service and he already told them to leave it at the door. Hardly subtle but it's better than an interruption when he's more interesting to what he can make Shuusuke do as opposed to eating.

Shuusuke is half-fighting him, half-working with him. Unspoken, both are them are trying to finish second, and it's incredibly silly, but here they are, fingers working and messy kisses in between it all.

"If you did or didn't, Souma."

"Did?"

"Actually rebel or anything like that, you know I'll be there."

"I know."

"I was trying to go somewhere with that, but…Souma." Shuusuke drags out the second syllable of his name. "I'm glad for you."

His own emotions suddenly choke his throat, and he nods furiously. "I wouldn't know—this. How to do this." He's one of those people whose grief could make them furious and unreasonable. He remembers when he thought Haruki died, and that had been more painful than finding out he was from the Northern Alliance. The tearing, horrible sensation in his chest. If he lost Shuusuke…

"Stop." Shuusuke tips his chin up with the utmost gentleness. "I'm right here."

_Right here, right now._

He'd reply, but everything is suddenly too much and too good and he forgets momentarily how tired he is as he arches into Shuusuke and sucks air loudly before letting it out all in a rush and practically fusing himself to this body, this frame that he knows better than any other. Time stops, his heart stops, and the quality of feeling good is so overwhelming he wishes it's possible for humans to die in ecstasy for real. Thought is fickle, as is movement, but he's used to this enough to keep his hand moving until Shuusuke's fingernails dig into his skin, nearly breaking it, sighing it in the only way he can. It's the best sort of sound, and Souma nuzzles his nose into Shuusuke's hair, half-formed sentences on his lips. If someone were to walk in on them this instant, he wouldn't care.

The food is probably getting cold outside, but he's content to lay here, just him and Shuusuke and their arms and legs wound around each other. His fingers tingle and so to other parts of him, but which every inhale and exhale, Shuusuke is there, in scent and body and soul.

If only it's permanent. If only he didn't live in this fear of loss, helpless that this is out of their hands.

Both of them are past the point of tears, and his anger has returned to the back of his mind, though not forgotten. With Shuusuke it's always better.

"I'll get the food."

"I'll get it." He still doesn't move.

"Souma…" Shuusuke tugs himself away, little by little, and Souma shuts his eyes. There's sounds of fabric rustling, a door opening, and dishes rattling. "I'll pour cold water on you if you don't get up."

"Haha." He heaves himself out of their shared bed (nicely queen-sized) and pauses to pull a sheet over himself and stop briefly at the bathroom. "I got fried rice. Is that okay?"

"I'll eat all the beansprouts, because you never liked them."

"I'll eat all your peas, then."

The smell of it makes him remember his hunger, and for the next few minutes, it's quiet as they eat. Shuusuke's foot bumps against his, and he nonchalantly lifts it to rest against his leg.

"Well, I can keep your feet warm," he offers in explanation to Shuusuke's raised eyebrow.

"What about your feet?"

"It's fine." He shoves a whole shrimp in his mouth, and dumps more beansprouts in Shuusuke's plate. "Did I order enough?"

"Mm-hm." Shuusuke brings his chopsticks up, and Souma opens his mouth to accept the peas. Shuusuke is weird to not like them. "It isn't bad. We should try to stay here again."

"I could make better fried rice."

"I believe that. So—" He wipes his mouth, and leans forward. "Make it for me, someday."

"I want to." Because what was time for cooking? Non-existent. Japan has marvellous freeze-dried and instant meals, but it doesn't compare. "So I can spoil you."

"You already do, Souma. What do you call this?"

He laughs softly, their shoulders bumping together. "Never enough." It's an endless cycle of thoughts, of wanting more than what life has appointed to them, greedy to show his love and need to one particular Shiba Shuusuke.

"If I could have you twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks of a year…I definitely would. That kind of spoiling is the best."

None of this conversation is very sensible, meandering endlessly like this, so they've finished their food, Souma takes it upon himself to pull Shuusuke into his lap. It's actually one of the few ways Shuusuke _doesn't_ fit because they're so close in height, and Shuusuke's hair itches, but neither of them minds.

"I didn't rip your stitches or anything, did I?" He feels bad; at some point his memory had spaced out. "You're okay, right?"

Shuusuke takes his hand and puts it at his side, where his injury is. "You were fine, Souma." He leans back against him, pillowing his head on a shoulder. "More than fine. What about you?"

"Me?" Fingers caressing the side of his neck cause him to relax. "I'm…better. Because of you, yeah?"

"I wish we weren't apart. I worry about you." The caressing turns to massaging. "I'd tell you to not let it get to you, but it gets to me as well."

"That's why I have you." He hooks his arms around Shuusuke, the chair creaking under their weight. "Thank you."

Like this, he could forget. He could focus on the things that cleared his mind, on the one person he wants to spend his life with. At the way Shuusuke burrows against him, making little contented sounds, he knows it's the same.

"Hey, do I need to carry you to bed?" He nudges slightly.

"If I said no, you'd do it anyway."

"I'm in a mood to." He's lying; he's always in a mood to carry Shuusuke.

Honestly it ends being that that he gets up, hauls Shuusuke with him, and collapses there. Shuusuke lies there, hair flopped over his face in such a way that it makes Souma laugh even as he's brushing it out of his eyes as he drags the bedsheets over them.

"It's not that funny."

"Oh, it was. Trust me." Neither of them are serious, but the laugh is much needed.

It's amazing how one person in your life could make such a difference. Not to be biased, but Shuusuke is special, because messiahs didn't come a dime a dozen, no matter what Sakura claims. The warmth spreads, and he imagines it like a vibrant colour splashed over them, over the dull, tired black of fighting and terrorism and cold weather, a reminder of being human, and being in love.

"Thought you were tired."

"Yeah, I am." His back still hurts, and Shuusuke is still injured. "But it's fine. I have you." He squeezes Shuusuke's hand.

Shuusuke returns the gesture, his eyes not so weary anymore as he shifts closer. "You'll always have me."

_As long as I can. As long as we make it. As long as I'm here and so are you._

It's why they keep going.

_**.end.** _


End file.
